Ribbons Undone
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: A series of music drabbles. You know the drill. In order: Ariadne/Cobb, young Fisher, Ariadne, Arthur/Eames, Ariadne/Fisher, Yusuf.
1. Ribbons Undone

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or any of the songs used.

Never finished all ten, but here are the six I did manage.

_Ribbons Undone_, Tori Amos

Ariadne/Cobb

She doesn't do it on purpose- doesn't mean to fall for the only man there who wouldn't give her the time of day. It could have been Arthur- Arthur with his cold eyes and surprisingly gentle kiss. Or Eames, all accent and stubble and one night stands. But no… it's him, Peter Pan. The man in love with his own shadow.

She runs. She always has. On her school track team. In the middle of the night when she can't sleep. To Paris, when Minnesota is unbearable. It's nostalgic somehow, like she can still feel her skirts and pigtails and ribbons bouncing smoothly against her skin, soft as a lover's touch.

She runs for him… from him, to him. Doesn't know if she wants him to catch her up in his arms and hold her like a little girl, or carry her to bed like a woman. Doesn't matter, she knows- Dominic Cobb won't do either. Won't brush her hair into pigtails or slowly unbutton her blouse. Won't bring her flowers, daisies _or_ roses.

Still, she runs for him.


	2. Man on the Moon

_Man on the Moon_, R.E.M.

Maurice, Robert, Peter

He goes to a business meeting two hours after his wife dies. It's not that he wants to. It just needs to be done.

The show goes on.

He comes home to find his son curled up sobbing in the lap of his partner and closest friend. Peter pushes Robert to his feet- gently, always so _gently_- and slips away as Maurice enters the room.

His son just stands there blankly for a moment. Then: "D-d-daddy," Robert bawls, opening his arms, screwing up his face.

Messy, messy. He's just too young, or possibly too stupid, to understand that it's going to be all right. That heaven will come later and that the dead can wait. Business is now. Business is _alive_.

"There's really nothing to be said," Maurice promises. His voice is soft and loving. But Robert only cries harder, and Maurice doesn't have time for this. He's got an empire to run. He's got men to put on the moon.

And oh, what a show it will be.


	3. Going Whichever Way the Wind Blows

_Going Whichever Way the Wind Blows_, Peter Droge

Ariadne, team

The wind is gentle and warm against her face, her scarf playing coyly against her neck. Ariadne closes her eyes and watches them go. Her body feels strangely safe, strangely windswept, but her heart is breaking. She has a connecting flight to visit her parents. Cobb is catching a cab to the north of the state, and Eames has a flight back to England. Arthur smiles goodbye as he doesn't tell her his destination.

Suddenly she's twenty-three again, still not used to taking airplanes on her own. She fights the urge to wrap her arms around herself.

We're not friends? she wonders sadly. All that we've been through, it didn't make us friends?


	4. Flinch

_Flinch_, Alanis Morissette

Arthur/Eames

He's young when they meet, arms still too long for his torso, eyes still too big for his face, already half in love with a married woman. _Loving a man_- it's not something he'd ever considered. Not something he wants to play with. But that face, it lingers like a shadow in the corners of his eyes, and he knows that nothing is ever going to erase this.

He also knows that he doesn't want anything to.

He grows up. He wears suits and he smiles less.

She dies. He grows up more.

He has not seen Eames for years when the Fischer case- yes, just another case- shows up, and he is ashamed at how his hands shake and his stomach (groin?) clenches. Just another case. (It's. Not. Fair.)

He is proud of himself for staying so neutral, for staying so professional during the case, but the inevitable happens once it's all done, and they make desperate, childish love in a hotel in Los Angeles, though they're not supposed to communicate for at least a few weeks. Fuck that. Fuck everything. Arthur feels young for the first time in years. And, young again, for the first time in years he cries, face buried in the dark against Eames' sturdy chest, exhausted and relieved and still really horny.

Someday, maybe, he'll grow up for real, and be done with this.


	5. Your Winter

_Your Winter_, Sister Hazel

Ariadne, Fischer (Ariadne/Fischer?)

Her forehead pressed against the cold metal of the bathroom door, Ariadne listens to the sobbing from within. It's a deep, chesty sound that threatens to break her heart and yet fascinates her somehow. How can you translate a business strategy into an emotion, Arthur had wondered, it feels like years ago. And it didn't seem possible to her, then. But when your life is business, she guesses, it makes a good amount of sense.

The plane is landing; she feels a tipping beneath her feet that she knows might be partially in her head, and if Saito hadn't bought out the whole damn operation she's positive that the flight attendants would have been yelling themselves hoarse at her right now. A perk, she guesses, but it doesn't feel like it. Lingering outside the first class bathroom, listening to Robert Fischer crying himself silly inside… it doesn't feel like any kind of reward.

He sniffs, and she can almost picture how desperately he is trying to hold himself together. He dissolves again. It isn't working. She presses her hand against the cold metal.

She jumps back when the door swings open. The descent is steep now; they both need to get back to their seats. Eyes swollen, nose pink, the mark looks all of eighteen. "'scuse me," she murmurs, and he averts his eyes as he stumbles away.


	6. Remember When It Rained

_Remember When It Rained_, Josh Groban

Yusuf

Yusuf was a good man. One can argue the morals of the others in the industry, but something else set him apart in the dreamworld: he was a nice man. Caring man. Serious girlfriend. Stable home. At least, at first. Over time, something changes. Maybe it started in the rain- maybe everything started in the rain.

It's dark. Clouds hide the Indian sun. Raindrops wash down his face like sweat. Three years later Yusuf has no girlfriend, pays no rent, wears designer suits. For the rest of his life he'll wonder why he assimilated- why he became a part of the culture that he always tried his best to skirt. Perhaps the call of an epic life was just too stirring to be ignored. He misses it, though- misses himself. Misses being a nice guy.

Now he travels as much as the rest of them. Still a good man, he thinks, but maybe not.

He feels the ache most profoundly when it rains.


End file.
